CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Serafina
I sat on the barstool, watching him move around in the kitchen.
It was a sight I had never expected to see.
Adrian Salvatore, the ruthless killer, the man who has tormented me in countless ways, standing before the stove, cooking.
He looked so completely out of place in his black pants and black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons undone. His brows were furrowed as he worked diligently.
He had been too attentive lately, noticing things most people would miss. He always had stalker tendencies, but those tendencies seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.
It should have been suffocating, to have him around me all the time. Watching, wanting to talk, helping me as if I was incapable of doing anything on my own.
But it was almost…cute.
I squashed the thought away before I could even dwell in it.
No…
Nothing was cute about Adrian.
Not his betrayal. Not his lies. Not his manipulations.
And I sure as hell wasn’t going to have Stockholm Syndrome.
Adrian has made mistakes that were unforgivable.
He had tampered with my birth control and took my choice away.
He had done a lot of terrible things, and there was a lot I couldn’t forgive him for.
But this…
This, I couldn’t allow myself to forgive.
No matter how much he consoled or proved himself to be worthy…
He would never be worthy.
I stared at him, his large hands were surprisingly gentle as they flipped the omelette, with a practiced flick of his wrist.
Adrian wasn’t a good husband.
But yet, sometimes I found myself wondering if maybe… just maybe, he could be a good father.
He wanted this child.
No… wanted was far too small a word for whatever lived inside him whenever he looked at the life growing beneath my skin.
Every touch against my stomach carried an almost reverent tenderness, as though he were handling something sacred, too fragile that he was frightened his touch would hurt. His rough hands would soften the moment they brushed over the curve of my belly.
Sometimes he whispered to the baby when he thought I was asleep. Low, gentle words spoken with an emotion so raw it made my chest ache.
And his eyes…
God, his eyes gave him away every single time.
They gleamed with something far deeper than happiness. It was fear. Awe. Desperation. Hope so sharp it almost looked painful.
This child wasn’t just his heir or legacy.
This baby was the only thing tethering him to humanity. The only thing keeping the darkness inside him from swallowing him whole.
I didn’t understand it.
I didn’t understand why a man capable of such brutality looked at my stomach like it held his salvation.
I didn’t understand why there was so much terror hidden beneath his tenderness, as though he was already terrified of losing something that hadn’t even entered the world yet.
And maybe that was what unsettled me the most.
Not his obsession or his protectiveness.
But the fact that beneath all his darkness, there was still an emotion inside him capable of caring this deeply.
He was a monster.
But he wanted to become worthy of being a father.
And for some reason, that realization melted away some of my fury.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” I told him.
He sighed, a troublesome look sliding over his face. “I was told you barely ate anything today.”
It was just past midnight and I hadn’t been able to sleep.
Adrian had just arrived in my bedroom for his nightly visit, and had seen me still awake. I had been feeling hungry but didn’t want to eat, scared I wouldn’t be able to keep it down.
God, I hated throwing up.
And it was all I could do since I found out I was pregnant.
Morning sickness hadn’t been easy on me.
My husband didn’t like that I hadn’t been eating properly, so he brought me to the kitchen. Silently, he had put together a fruit plate for me before moving to the stove to make some eggs. He said I needed protein.
I looked down at the plate in front of me. All fresh fruits—apricots, grapes, and some red cherries. They did look tempting and maybe fruits wouldn’t make me throw up.
Something tightened in my chest, a dull pain shooting in my stomach before it was quickly gone. I didn’t even have the time to understand what it was.
I munched on a slice of apricot as the smell of warm eggs filled the kitchen. My nose wrinkled at the smell. I was sensitive to everything these days.
Adrian slid the eggs onto a plate before placing it in front of me, but I wrinkled my nose again. “I don’t think I can eat this.”
He doesn’t look disappointed. Instead, he leans against the counter, studying me with those piercing blue eyes. “Ask me anything you want.”
“What?”
“Ask me anything you want to know about me and I promise you, I won’t tell a single lie.”
That was very random.
And despite it, I was more curious than suspicious.
Was he finally opening up?
The walls around him had been too high, too solid, too icy to make my way through.
And if he was giving me a chance to peek past those walls, I wasn’t going to let the opportunity slide.
I rested my elbow on the counter, thoughtful.
What could I possibly ask a man like Adrian?
“Tell me something about you that no one knows,” I finally said after a moment of silence. “A secret. Something you’ve kept hidden in your heart for a long time.”
Adrian’s expression changed, the mask slipping for just a moment. A small glimpse of vulnerability clouded his eyes, looking almost wounded before it was gone.
“My father killed my mother,” he admitted quietly, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “I watched it all happen. I watched how he suffocated her with a pillow and then tucked her in bed as if she wasn’t dead, as if she was just sleeping.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. My lips parted with a shocked gasp. “Adrian...”
He fed me a small piece of toast and eggs. I chewed instinctively.
“He didn’t know that I had seen him,” he continued, his voice devoid of any emotions.
Almost like he was just recounting a stranger’s tale and not his own childhood.
“After my father had left, I went into her room. I knew she was dead, but she was still warm when I touched her. I remembered she still smelled flowery and I almost convinced myself that she was still alive. I wanted to hold my mother, to sleep by her side. One last time.”
Shock hollowed me out from the inside, leaving behind a crushing wave of remorse so heavy it hurt to breathe.
I was still angry at Adrian, utterly furious, wounded, conflicted beyond reason—but suddenly, beneath all of that rage, something far more painful began to take root. Sympathy.
No… not sympathy.
Grief for the boy he had once been.
I couldn’t imagine young Adrian, only eight, small and helpless, standing there…watching his father steal the life from his mother with his own hands. Watching her struggle as she suffocated.
No child should ever witness something like that.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“Don’t be.” His voice hardened slightly. “It made me who I am today. Life never promised us it would be pure and beautiful. We’re forced to make choices. And we become what we need to be to survive.”
I looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time. Not as the monster who has tormented me, but as a young boy shaped by unimaginable cruelty.
“It showed me what I needed to be in this world of ours. We weren’t normal people, Serafina.
We lived in a world full of darkness and blood.
Men doing unimaginable things for power and control.
” I opened my mouth when he brought another piece of eggs to me and I chewed without really realizing what I was doing.
“And with that power came obsession. And for every obsession, there were countless dead bodies in its path. At some point, we all become monsters.”
“You never told anyone?” I ask, swallowing the food.
Adrian fed me another bite, his eyes never leaving mine. “No one,” he rasped. “No one but you.”
My pulse fluttered with his confession.
And I looked down, no longer able to hold his gaze.
That was when I noticed that my plate of eggs was half-way done.
Huh…
My head snapped up and my eyes narrowed on Adrian’s smirking face.
“You tricked me,” I accused, a gasp escaping my lips.
His smirk widened. “I didn’t trick you. You were hungry and I fed you. That’s what husbands do for their pregnant wives.”
Thud.
The stupid, treacherous heart ricocheted against my chest.
I was painfully aware of how intimate this moment felt.
Adrian Salvatore, the man who has deceived and manipulated me, standing in our kitchen at midnight, distracting me while we conversed so he could feed me because I couldn’t keep anything down.
This man is a paradox—capable of unspeakable cruelty and unexpected tenderness.
“Don’t try to be charming. I still haven’t forgiven you.”
The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. Adrian’s expression didn’t change, though something flickered in those blue eyes, a pain that vanished too quickly.
“Yes, I know,” he said, his voice soft.
He picked up another piece of toast, holding it to my lips. I should have refused. I should have maintained my anger, my distance. But my body betrayed me once more, my mouth opening to accept his offering.
“Have you thought of names?” he asked, feeding me another bite and I begrudgingly let him.
I chew slowly, considering his question. In truth, I have thought of little else these past weeks. “I’m not sure yet,” I admitted, swallowing. “But I’ll think of something soon for him.”
“You still think it’s a boy?”
I can’t help the small smile that curved my lips. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, cradling the small swell that had begun to form. “I have a feeling it’s a boy. What about you?”
“I think it’s a girl,” he said, and the pride in his voice caught me off guard.